To Teach Is
by MaraudersWolf
Summary: Severus Snape begins his career as the Potions Master of Hogwarts, reluctantly agreeing to teach as well as to spy. What will this new endeavor bring forth? Excitement? Danger? A love for students? Or just a new source of sarcasm?
1. Chapter 1: Preparations

**Author's Notes:** This was originally written for the "Snape After DH fest" with the prompt of _Snape's first days of teaching_. Thanks to MaraudersAffair for the beta assistance. Thanks for the constant confidence boosts should also go to her, Auberus and many others! Without them, I wouldn't be posting!

* * *

His lips quirked upwards ever so slightly – passersby wouldn't think of it as a smile, but it was. The sight of Hogwarts, no matter the time of day nor the time of year, filled him with happiness. It was his home, not that hovel he recently left nor his childhood home, Spinner's End. It was here that he grew up. It was here that his memories could be found. There were good memories and there were some not so good, but they were here and nowhere else. He sighed, happy to be returning to the place his mind knew as home.

* * *

Severus surveyed the classroom from his position standing at the doorway. The distinct smell of mold struck his nose. His ears picked up the sounds of scurrying animals across the floor as the dim torchlight cast shadows. The tables and chairs were just as filthy as ever. The stone walls were a dull shade of black, not the weathered grey of the rest of the castle. The teacher's desk at the head of the room tilted oddly, one leg apparently broken and missing its chair.

The supply cabinet in the room was bare, save for a few cobwebs covering the empty shelves. The one drawer it contained rattled when he attempted to open it. The sinks at the back of the room were covered with a blue-green layer of scum, the "drip-drip" of the faucets loud in the oppressive silence. Cauldrons were stacked haphazardly in the corner, threatening to fall over at the slightest movement. Various stirring rods, ladles and glass vials, some obviously unusable, were scattered around.

He crossed the room, ignoring the squelching noises made when his feet touched the floor. The office was in a slightly better state, he saw, although there was no chair in sight. The desk was standing upright, all of its legs intact, but the drawers hung open, some missing their hardware and some broken. Empty bottles of firewhisky and brandy could be seen on the floor. Layers of dust covered the books lining one wall. A stench of decay hit him when he opened the wardrobe. Something – a bat, he realised – flew out at him and began flying around the room.

Dread began filling him as he approached the door that would lead to his quarters from the office. _If the office and classrooms look like this, what will the quarters look like?_ he wondered. The door, however, was locked. Alohamora didn't work, nor the generic password Dumbledore had given him. Sighing, he reached the conclusion that the previous professor must have used a personal password and that he would need to resort to other measures. However, now was not the time to fight with an inanimate object. He retraced his steps, spelling the doors to stay open as he located the hallway entrance to the quarters.

Dumbledore's password worked instantly, the painting transforming into a door that opened willingly. Torches automatically began lighting, the bright light making his eyes water momentarily. An indescribable smell struck his nose as his eyes adjusted. The air felt thick and damp, pressing against him as he fought to breathe. The entry was a decent size, with bookshelves and a fireplace. An archway showed the way to the bedroom and kitchen areas. Years of grime, it appeared, had coalesced into a sticky black sludge on the floor, the faint outlines of where furniture had been clearly visible, although the quarters were completely unfurnished at the moment.

"Beaker," he said, fighting to keep his voice even as he called for the house elf assigned to him.

The "pop" of the house elf's arrival echoed in the silence. "Y – Y – Yes, M – M – M – Master S – S – Snape?" the house elf sputtered and squeaked.

"Please explain," he began, his hands clenching into fists, "why the quarters and the classroom are this . . . disgusting? Were they not cleaned?"

The house elf began shaking visibly, its voice continuing to stutter as he spoke. "M – M – Master Slughorn d – d – did not w – w – want house elves i – i – in his quarters o – o – or dungeons. We n – n – not clean unless h – h – he calls a – a – and he t – t – tells us."

Severus glared at the house elf. "As you can clearly see," he said, "I am not Professor Slughorn and I have expectations that my rooms will be clean and presentable. Please see that this is corrected."

"Yes, sir!" the house elf said, perking up and showing enjoyment at the thought of working again. "Beaker is starting right away, sir! Beaker be back with stuff for cleaning." Another "pop" announced the elf's departure.

Severus sighed, returning to the classroom through the hallway. He stood at the front of the room, a sense of being overwhelmed trying to overtake him, but he fought against it. The echoes of approaching footsteps grew as he stood there. "Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said as Severus turned to face him.

Severus fixed his gaze on the wizard. "Yes, Headmaster?" he quietly said.

"After you left, I realized I had forgotten to inform you of your duties that exist outside of your teaching responsibilities." Severus simply nodded. "As Head of Slytherin House, of course, you will be responsible for overseeing the daily routines and needs of the Slytherins."

Severus nodded in understanding. "Yes, Headmaster," he calmly said.

"Also, you will be expected to supervise students during their study periods to ensure their focus is on their studies and make nightly patrols of the halls," Dumbledore finished. Severus nodded again. He had expected these duties – the newer staff always did the work the older, more experienced staff had no desire to do.

The smile on Dumbledore's face suddenly departed as he took in the sight of the classroom in its disheveled state. "Oh, my," he murmured as Severus turned and strode into the room.

Severus paid little attention to the mumblings of the old wizard as he summoned the house elf and requested several buckets, sponges, rags and other cleaning necessities. The house elf disappeared and the requested items appeared just as quickly. The Headmaster's footsteps echoed as he entered the room and went directly to the office. A smirk crossed Severus' face at the string of oaths he heard from Dumbledore. Although he wasn't sure of the reason for the foul language, he hoped it was because of the horrible state of the classroom and quarters.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, exiting the office to approach him. A slight blush of fury was seen on his face and his eyes held a look of determination. "I feel I must apologize for the state of things. I had foolishly assumed all would be taken care of by Professor Slughorn before his departure."

"It is understandable, professor," Severus said, attempting to keep his voice even. Part of him wanted to rage at the wizard, asking him what the hell he thought Slughorn was doing down here. "The house elves are seeing to the quarters, as I wish to handle the classroom and office."

Dumbledore nodded. "I shall expect to see you at dinner, then." Severus nodded, then turned back to filling the buckets with water as the headmaster made his exit.

Once Dumbledore had left, Severus sighed and filled the last bucket. His hands massaged his temples as he took another look around. For the first time, though he knew not the last, he wondered what he had agreed to when he accepted the old wizard's offer of teaching.

* * *

Two weeks of scrubbing with a sponge in his hands, countless shouts of "scourgefy," "reparo" and other variants, as well as a case of Mrs. Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover, the classroom finally met his approval of cleanliness. The boggart from the cabinet had been relocated to the staff room closet. The cobwebs and their resident spiders had found other homes outside of the dungeons. The floors and walls were a brilliant shade of grey that matched the rest of the stone in the castle. The tables and chairs, although still obviously worn and used, were scrubbed to a gleaming shade of wood. Broken equipment had been discarded and replacements were arriving before the start of classes. The sinks no longer had a lining of scum and the faucets no longer dripped.

The only thing he had yet to do was to get rid of the bat that had flown out of the closet on his first day. It had made a home in the beams on the ceiling of the classroom and appeared to move far too quickly for even his sharp reflexes to catch either by hand or by wand.

Even the house elves had done far more than Severus had expected. By the second night, Beaker had the quarters gleaming in the bright torchlight. Not a speck of dirt, dust, grime or cobweb could be found. The small pantry was lightly stocked with tea, biscuits and other foodstuffs and the icebox held a selection of refreshments. He declined the house elf's offer to unpack his trunk and unshrink his furniture, preferring to complete that task himself.

Piece by piece, the quarters, as well as the classroom and office, began to take on a bit of himself. The bookcases held his vast array of books, journals and writings. His prized cauldrons and utensils found their spaces in the private lab abutting the office and his quarters. Soft rugs in various shades of green carpeted the floor around the bed and in the entryway. There were no actual windows, since the classroom and the quarters were below grounds, but magical windows mirrored the sky outside when he bothered to open the shutters. The owls that delivered his mail and professional journals quickly learned to leave the items in the staffroom upstairs, lest they enjoy a battle with the bat from the rafters.

When not involved in the physical activity of cleaning something, the days were still busy. Potions needed to be brewed for Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary as well as for Professor Sprout to use in the greenhouses and Professor Kettleburn to have handy in case of accidents with the magical creatures. Lesson plans were developed following the guidelines Dumbledore had set forth in their first meeting. The stores of ingredients were being replenished, thanks to numerous owl orders and trips to Diagon Alley.

Through it all, there was daily contact with both Dumbledore and McGonagall, for reasons he wasn't sure of. The other professors made polite conversation with him at meals and acknowledged his presence when passing in the halls, but those two sought him out every day. After a few weeks, it was rather annoying.

* * *

Severus sighed, then winced at the pain that simple action produced. His robes were muddied and torn, well beyond saving. Blood seeped through the layers of clothing to soak the black cloth despite the healing charms he had casted an hour earlier. His face was deathly pale, his hands shook despite the tight hold on his wand and he winced with every movement he made. The sight of the entrance doors to the castle had never looked more inviting than they did at this moment. The meeting with Voldemort had taken the entire night. He vaguely recalled being summoned as the sun was setting. Now, he was returning with the sun slowly rising.

His thoughts were focused on simply returning to his quarters, healing his wounds and falling asleep. The few remaining potions that were brewing didn't require his attention for another day. The classroom was ready for the students' arrival in less than a week. He had received all of the owls he was expecting with replacement equipment and ingredients. His lesson plans had met the approval of Dumbledore. Beaker and the other house elves now regularly maintained his quarters.

Severus entered the castle quietly, gently closing the door and trying to walk quickly across the entrance hall despite the slight limp to his step and the slouch in his body. Halfway across, a loud shriek pierced the silence, hurting his ears as much as the startled movement of his body did. He didn't need to look into the Great Hall to know that Madam Pomfrey was the source of the shriek. He had heard it enough during his time as a student.

"Severus Snape!" She quickly shouted, running over to him. "What in the name of Merlin happened?"

"So much for getting to my quarters," Severus grumbled to himself, slowly turning to face the mediwitch. "I am f-" he started to say, but was interrupted.

"You are not fine!" the mediwitch declared, brandishing her wand with a flourish as Dumbledore and McGonagall approached. "You are obviously in pain and bleeding."

The gasp from McGonagall matched the astonished stare on Dumbledore's face. Despite all of the meetings the three had held regarding his spying work, they had never seen him in a state such as this.

"Oh, Severus," McGonagall said, her tone matching the concern seen in her face. "What . . .Where?"

"It was not an attack, professor," he quietly said, grimacing as Pomfrey poked her wand at a particularly sore spot on his head. He jerked away, but instantly regretted the action because of the nausea it produced.

He closed his eyes and felt Dumbledore's hands steadying him, the man's soft voice speaking quietly. "Were you summoned?"

Severus nodded, hearing sounds of disgust from the two witches. "And this is what happens?" McGonagall asked, the disbelief clearly apparent.

"In a manner of speaking," Severus said, hissing at the pain caused simply by shifting his weight. He opened his eyes to glance at the three assembled around him before averting his gaze to the stone wall over Pomfrey's shoulder. "Gatherings with the Dark Lord do not involve tea and biscuits," he muttered darkly. "My current state is the result of several successful duels with other members of the inner circle. It is the Dark Lord's choice of entertainment periodically."

McGonagall's gasp echoed in the empty hall despite her hand covering her mouth. "He . . . does what?

"Enough," Pomfrey said. "To the infirmary with you. Your injuries require immediate attention. A sprained ankle, a mild concussion and Merlin knows how many gashes are hiding under those rags contributing to severe blood loss."

Snape shook his head, gritting his teeth against the nausea that came. "My quarters are closer," he said. "I have a supply of potions and medical necessities in my quarters for events such as this and I am capable of handling myself."

"Be that as it may, Severus Snape," Pomfrey said, glaring fiercely at the wizard, "you are in this school and you are a patient of mine. You will not get rid of me so easily."

"I quite agree, Severus," McGonagall said. "Perhaps it would be best to be in the infirmary where Madam Pomfrey can-"

"No!" Severus stated, quietly but firmly. "I am capable of handling myself. Do you sincerely believe this is the first time I have found myself in this condition?" Looks of shock and disbelief quickly found their way to the witches' faces while Dumbledore's face remained impassive. Severus winced at the pain of shifting his weight again.

"Poppy," Dumbledore said, cutting off whatever the mediwitch had planned to say, "perhaps you could accompany Severus to his quarters? After all, he is a member of the staff now, not a student."

Pomfrey glared at Dumbledore momentarily. "I will go with you to your quarters, Severus, but if I do not find what's necessary to fix you up, you will be going to the infirmary with me, even if I need to bind and gag you!"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," he said softly, knowing this would be the best compromise he would get. Only the mediwitch followed as he made his way to his personal quarters, muttering the entire way and making comments about "meddling fools" and "idiots with wands," which slightly amused Severus.

Severus led her into his private lab and to the shelves housing an array of potions and salves. He selected one, showing her the label that clearly marked it as a pain-relieving potion before downing it in two gulps. The effects were immediately felt and Severus straightened his posture, matching the scrutinizing gaze of the mediwitch. "Before you continue your assessment and treatment, may I be allowed a brief shower and a change of clothes?"

Pomfrey nodded, then shooed him away, occupied with browsing his shelves for the items she sought. Severus hid his smirk as he walked away. What did they think? That he hadn't found himself in this position – or worse – while being a Death Eater? He no longer looked at the bruises marring his body – only those wounds with blood or bumps gained his attention. The same potions and salves he brewed for the infirmary he had also brewed for himself.

Still, a part of him – a small part that was buried deep inside – was grateful for the care and concern. It was something that had been missing for the past five years of his life.


	2. Chapter 2: The Students' First Day

**Author's Notes:** I didn't realize when I first uploaded this that a) there were a few minor grammatical mistakes in what ended up being posted as Chapter 1 and b) that the entire story had not been posted in Chapter 1. So, the minor corrections have been made (though if you've previously read it, it shouldn't make a difference) and here is the rest as it was written for the "Snape After DH fest" with the prompt of _Snape's first days of teaching_.

* * *

The morning of September 1st dawned bright and clear. Professors could be seen scampering around the castle, meeting Dumbledore to make last-minute changes to their lesson plans, locating missing items and moving unused items to empty classrooms. The house elves were bustling around the castle, cleaning the debris left in the wake of the scurrying teachers. Hagrid could be seen out on the grounds, pulling out the carriages and inspecting them before lining them up in preparation for their use later in the day.

Severus, for his part, spent the day in his quarters after inspecting the classroom for one final time. Everything met his satisfaction. A feeling of nervousness rose as he scanned the spotless room with its dim torches on the wall and slight chill in the air. Quickly, he squashed that, trying to override it with some confidence, but the nervousness still hung in there. He had never formally "taught" others – yes, he could say he tutored others, when they asked of him, but that wasn't the same. It wasn't the first time that he found himself suppressing the nauseating fear of wondering what exactly it was he had agreed to when accepting Dumbledore's offer to become a teacher. Nor, he knew, would it be the last.

The castle was his home and his quarters were even more so. It was there he spent most of his time. Between brewing experimental potions, studying the latest professional journal and passing the time with a good drink and a book to match, he found himself quickly settling into the rhythms of the castle. Summons from Voldemort, although frequent in the last month, were usually brief. The Dark Lord sought to hear from him first, then usually allowed him to leave so that he could return to Hogwarts, "establishing" himself as a spy on Dumbledore. Only one occasion required a lengthy stay, resulting in his shabby appearance just a week earlier.

The castle was spotless and gleaming by the time Hagrid and the carriages left for Hogsmeade. Severus enjoyed the last few moments of silence in the hallways as he joined the professors in seating themselves in the Great Hall. Dumbledore's robes, a shade that could be either blue or purple, shimmered as he stood in front of the group and raised his hands. The quiet chatter ended as he spoke. "Well done, everyone," he said cheerily. "In moments, the students will arrive and a new year will begin. Even in these darkest of times, let us remember that Hogwarts is a place of safety as much as it is a place of learning."

With a wave of his hand, the doors opened as he took his seat at the table. The Head Boy, a Gryffindor, and the Head Girl, a Ravenclaw, led the students into the Great Hall. The silence Severus enjoyed was slowly replaced by the buzz of conversations as the students found classmates and housemates that they had not yet greeted. The occasional high-pitched girlish shrieks broke through the din, making Severus wince at the awful noise.

The prefects for each house strode to their respective head for instructions. Severus had sent his ahead via owl with a short introduction. On the outside, he was calm and orderly. Inside, butterflies were competing for space in his stomach as the students approached. This would be his first time speaking to students as a person of authority – written words could be erased and re-written until they were perfect, but spoken words could not be taken back. It was a lesson he learned the hard way.

Severus nodded to each as they introduced themselves. The 6th and 7th year prefects were students he vaguely recalled from his own days, while the 5th years were not. He repeated his instructions as he had written in their letters. They were expected to be leaders in the house, coming to him only as a last resort. He would not coddle the students like the other heads did.

He sipped his pumpkin juice, thinking of the bottle of wine chilling in his quarters and wondering, yet again, why he was here. He had no love for children. He had no training in working with children. He had no pedagogical knowledge of how children developed. He had no understanding of the theories of learning. He was not a teacher. His only love was for his beloved art of potion-making.

The conversations quickly died when the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open again and McGonagall strode in, the group of first-years behind her. The Sorting was the same as he remembered, although he paid particular attention to those the hat sorted into Slytherin.

Severus did not like to socialize. He did not like to mingle and chat. Severus abhorred being social and avoided it as much as possible. All that talking was just hot air being blown about, producing more carbon dioxide for plants to have.

Now, however, being social was an expectation. Being the head of Slytherin meant he needed to converse with the students on a regular basis. As a teacher, he would be expected to socialize with the other teachers. He had never been good with names and faces, yet now there were so many names and faces to learn in his house alone, never mind the rest of the school.

"Welcome! To those who are returning and to those who are joining us for the first time, welcome!" the headmaster said. "Let us enjoy good food and good company." A wave of his hands filled the tables with food. Severus served himself whatever was closest and quickly took a bite. The food was excellent as usual, but did little to settle the nervousness he felt. _I'm no longer a student_, he thought. His breath was taken away as the force of that thought suddenly struck.

Dumbledore stood and spoke again when all the food disappeared. "Now that we have filled ourselves, allow me a few words to say." Dumbledore turned to Severus and gave a slight nod. "First, Professor Slughorn has retired after many years of service to Hogwarts. Taking his place as both Professor of Potions and Head of Slytherin is Severus Snape." He rose from his chair, his hands firmly clutching the table as all eyes suddenly focused on him. He felt every beat of his heart as it pounded in his chest and his lungs suddenly constricted, as if there wasn't enough air to breath."Those of you who are 6th or 7th years may remember Professor Snape from his time as a student here."

Severus took his seat as Dumbledore continued on. He felt the stares of students still boring into him as he looked away. He focused on hearing the usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest and the school grounds, reminding the students about Quidditch tryouts and then sending them off. The sudden screeching of the benches against the stone floor had Severus gritting his teeth and fighting against his natural reaction of covering his ears. Noise was not something he liked.

He sat and watched as the students exited, startled only by the approach of Dumbledore. "Good night, Severus," the old wizard said, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Sleep well. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Yes, Headmaster," he said, nodding once before standing and exiting, the noise of the students still ringing in his ears.

The silence of his quarters was instantly relaxing.

* * *

The next morning found the butterflies had returned to his stomach, making the thought of eating just too nauseous to bear. He had spent the night sleeping very little. If he wasn't tossing and turning, he was pacing his quarters with nervousness and apprehension. The doubts raced through his mind as fast as any curse. Could he be a teacher? Could he maintain his role as a spy? Panic tried to edge in around his doubts, but he quashed that before it could get started. He would NOT let a bunch of ignominious brats get the better of him.

He and the other professors met in the staffroom just as breakfast was starting in the Great Hall. A pile of student schedules as well as a clipboard with a copy of OWL results awaited him. McGonagall reviewed the grades required for NEWT-level classes before the group of them left and entered the Great Hall.

Severus was the last one in, stopping just inside the door as the wall of noise hit him. _Was it always this noisy?_ He wondered, closing his eyes and trying to shut out the noise. _How did I not notice it when I was a student?_ His body wanted to escape – the natural reaction of "fight or flight" – but he refused to give in. It was just noise, an irritant in his quiet world, but it wasn't worth being seen as weak by the students. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and tried to shove aside the doubts still lingering in his mind. Quickly, he made his way to the Slytherin table, determined to complete the first day with the best possible outcomes.

The sixth years were dealt with first, since those schedules needed to be individually determined. He scanned the table, trying to match faces to names for the 6th and 7th years – after all, they were housemates during his last years at Hogwarts – but couldn't recall a single one. He finally resorted to calling out names as he walked along the table.

Once the sixth years were dealt with, the rest of the schedules were handed out in much the same way. He reminded the prefects of the house meeting he requested at the end of the week before leaving for his dungeon classroom.

His first class of the day was 2nd year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. He stood behind his desk, watching the students as they shuffled in. They whispered to each other in their groups of twos and threes while evenly mixing themselves in the classroom.

He waited for silence to descend before speaking, agitation growing inside him with every passing minute. He had little patience for waiting. "I am Professor Snape, Potions Master," he calmly said, unrolling a parchment and picking up a quill. "Please raise your hand when I call your name." He went through the class roster, hearing the snickers when he mispronounced a name and the occasional girlish giggle.

Once attendance was finished, he scanned the room. All eyes looked in his direction, but he didn't need Legilimency to see that some students had their mind focused elsewhere. Glancing at the class roster, he picked out a name at random. "Mr. Smethwick!" he called out. Several students jumped and one raised his hands. "Please tell us what a bezoar is."

"Sir?" the student muttered, beginning to blush.

"A bezoar, Mr. Smethwick," Severus calmly said. "What is it? Where can one, such as yourself, find it? Surely the answer is in your mind, as it is clearly not written on the walls of the classroom." Severus watched as the boy grimaced, scrunching up his face, as if that was the trick to remembering. After several silent moments, Severus selected another random student and tried again. "Miss Hamilton, what potion would I use a shrivelfig for?" The students directed their stares to a petite child in the front row, who began mumbling as her eyes widened in their gaze at him. "Mumble is not a language I speak. Please speak clearly so that your classmates may gain your knowledge." Instead of answering, she became silent and ducked her head, her eyes suddenly very interested in the tabletop.

"Very well," he muttered, turning to face the blackboard behind him."Instead of staring at your quills, put them to use," he stated, tapping the blackboard, "by reviewing these ingredients. For each one, provide a description of the item and identify one use in potion-making. This will be turned in at the beginning of the next class."

Severus sat down at his desk, facing the students. The silence was broken by the sudden flurry of bags being opened and rummaged through, parchment being unrolled and quills and inkpots being dropped onto the tabletops. A low murmur of conversation soon began and Severus watched as students began conversing with those around them. He waited, seeing if the noise would die down and be replaced by his precious silence, but that was not the case.

Scanning the room, he found the loudest voice, unsurprised that it was one student whose name he knew from listening to the other professors. "Mr. Pullingham," Severus stated, watching with satisfaction as he gained the attention and silence of all of the students. "The instructions did not include conversing with your neighbor."

"But Professor Slughorn let us talk as long as we were working," he said, a look of mild confusion on his face.

Severus sighed. "I should think it is quite apparent, as all of you are second-years, that I am not Professor Slughorn. I am Professor Snape and you will work in silence. Is that understood?" There were several nods of understanding. "Then continue your work in silence."

The 4th year Gryffindors and Slytherins were the next class. The house rivalry was obviously still in effect as he watched the students enter the classroom and seat themselves by house, the tension rising with every moment in the room. The class proceeded in a similar fashion as the 2nd year class. He took attendance first, thankfully having an easier time with pronouncing students' names, then orally quizzed the students on various ingredients. Thankfully, they were able to answer his questions satisfactorily.

For the remaining time, he set them to work on brewing a shrinking solution, something that Dumbledore's notes from Slughorn indicated they did a few times in the previous year. Wandering around the classroom, he hid his shock and disgust regarding their practical skills. None seemed to have a clue how to safely handle a knife. Their chopping of the daisy roots was sloppy and the leech juice was splashed and sloshed about. By the end of the class, none of the students had clearly produced the correct potion. The colors of vials on his desk ranged from bright orange to a watery yellow, nothing remotely close to the correct shade of green. Even worse to his sense of cleanliness, every table had ingredients spilled on it and the students just piled their dirty cauldrons by the sinks.

The bell rang to indicate the end of class and students began packing up their materials. Severus waved his wand to shut the door, the bang of its closing echoing slightly. "STOP!" he shouted, gaining their undivided attention. "This room was spotless when you entered it, it will be spotless before anyone leaves it," he calmly said. _I worked too hard to get it clean. I will not allow a bunch of hormone-crazed children to destroy it,_ he thought.

"Sir," one student said, stepping forward, "Professor Slughorn always told us to leave it for the students with detention."

Severus glared at the student, watching him retreat a few steps. "Must it be repeated that I am Professor Snape, not Professor Slughorn. He is no longer here. This is now my classroom and it is I providing instruction. Therefore, you will demonstrate the appropriate respect, including cleaning up after yourself. I am not a maidservant; I am a professor. Is that understood?"

Numerous voices mumbled "yes, sir" as he turned to the collection of vials on his desk, suppressing his desire to just banish all of them. A wave of his wand sent them to an empty cabinet that he promptly locked. His stomach growled lightly, reminding him that he did not eat at breakfast and lunch was waiting in the Great Hall.

First, though, he watched critically as the students began hurriedly cleaning their cauldrons and workspace. More than one student needed to have the puddle of leech juice pointed out or told to pick up the daisy roots from the floor. It took a full twenty minutes before everything met his satisfaction and he dismissed the class. They left with lots of muttering as he watched them leave, barely containing his desire to scream in frustration.

The lunch hour was half over when he finally made his way to the Great Hall. He filled his plate and ate quickly, not bothering to taste what he was eating or talk with the other professors. After gulping down a glass of pumpkin juice, he returned to the classroom and inspected it again. He found a few spots not quite up to his standards and quickly spelled them clean while making a mental note to watch the students closer.

The afternoon was occupied with one of the "study periods" Dumbledore mentioned and the Potions class for the NEWT-level 7th years. The study period was easy enough – the 3rd years had received substantial work from their morning professors - so they were sufficiently occupied. He patrolled the room as the students worked quietly, staring at those who dared slam a book on the table.

The NEWT-level class, however, was a different story. Surprisingly, the class was evenly mixed with students from all of the houses, His own NEWT class had been dominated by Gryffindors. None of the students looked familiar to him as they strolled in, nor did their names on the class roster. He stood behind his desk, waiting for silence as the bell sounded to indicate the start of class. His irritation grew exponentially with every passing minute that he waited.

Fifteen minutes passed before silence was achieved. _Finally!_ he thought. "Thank you for finally allowing me to speak," he sneered. "Please make sure to note that I am a professor and should be accorded respect as such. My days as a student ended 5 years ago. I will not be repeating them." He paused, scanning the room. The faces he saw wore expressions ranging from shock to confusion to disbelief. _Did they really think I would be "easy" on them, having been in school during their first and second years?_ He smirked slightly, picking up his quill.

"This class started 15 minutes ago," he said. "I do not expect to wait again for your silence. Let us begin." He took attendance, enjoying the silence as the students simply raised their hands when their name was called. "As Professor Dumbledore stated last night," he began, putting his quill down, "I am Professor Snape. This is your final year of Potions. To be here means that not only have you passed your OWLs in your fifth year, but have passed one year with Professor Slughorn. It means that you have shown a certain aptitude for potions, something which has many more uses than foolish wand-waving." He paused. "Therefore, let us begin."

The rest of the class period was devoted to making a hiccupping solution, allowing Severus to evaluate their practical skills while roaming the classroom. For seventh years, it was a rather simple potion, but one that required strict attention to detail. It wasn't long, however, before the problems began.

A sickening smell began spreading through the classroom. Severus whipped around and strode to the source, a Hufflepuff student in the front row. "Where does it say to add the mimbletonia leaves first?" he stated, watching as the student's lips began quivering. "It is a basic rule of potions to start with the liquid base, something a third-year can remember. You will need to scrub out your cauldron and start again." He turned quickly and resumed his pacing of the room, his eyes scanning from one workspace to the next as his mind made notes of the sloppy slicing of ingredients and stirring of the mixture.

It wasn't long before there was another problem. In another corner, a cauldron overflowed. Surprisingly, it was a Slytherin student, although Severus suspected the Gryffindor students at the next table had something to do with it because of the snickers he could hear from them. A wave of his wand cleared the contents. "Begin again," he told the student. He nodded at the muttered "yes, sir" from the student.

With half of the class period gone, Severus stood at the back of the room and nodded to himself. The students were working silently, but it was too good to last. In the middle of the room, a cauldron exploded with a thunderous "BOOM!" Severus' war-trained reflexes meant that he had located the source before the sound had finished its echo. The bat in the rafters was startled by the noise and flew twice around the room before settling in the rafters above his desk. The students nearby quickly hid under the tables, abandoning their potions altogether. "Get up!" he shouted. "You have your work to do!"

He walked over to the Ravenclaw whose cauldron was the source of the noise. The cauldron was now a pile of melted metal on the floor with a covering of green slime. "Miss Farthing," he said, spying the girl's name on her bookbag, "it is apparent that you did not add the ginger slices at the correct moment. Please clean up this mess. Cleaning supplies are in the cabinet, since using magic may cause another explosion."

He suppressed sigh of aggravation as he resumed prowling the room. He expected exploding and overflowing cauldrons from first and second year students, ones who hadn't had much experience working with open flames and a cauldron. He didn't expect it from seventh years who had brewed over a hundred potions just in their time at Hogwarts.

"Bottle your potion and place it on my desk," he said when the class was nearly over, moving to the front of the room. "Your homework is to summarize the basic rules of potion-making, with particular emphasis on following directions as they are written." The silence was now broken by the sounds of the students bottling their potions, then cleaning their workspace until the bell rang to signal the end of class. No one moved from their seats.

"Dismissed," he quietly stated, standing behind his desk. He remained standing as they gathered their items and exited. Severus sank into his chair as the classroom door closed with a swish of his wand. A silent spell locked the door as his hands found his head. Rubbing his eyes, he realized there were many more days to come. It was going to be a long year if this first day was any indication.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** There you have it! Snape survived his first day of teaching at Hogwarts and so did the students. This is where I stopped . . . though I had debated about continuing - might coax out the plotbunnies.


End file.
